


Pretend

by ShadowSelene (Shadowdianne)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 21:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowdianne/pseuds/ShadowSelene
Summary: “The charm is experimental.” The answer didn’t quite match the compliment, but Hermione didn’t feel like taking the words at face value, not when she needed a couple of seconds to take into the grim smile her lips were making.





	Pretend

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Let’s just pretend that the war happened slightly later time-wise.
> 
> This is an answer to a general prompt made by the amazing little shits back at Discord. The premise being “body-swap” and with a minimum -or was it maximum? I’ve decided to pretend I can’t read for that…- of 500 words.

“I always forget how impressive you can be.”

Hermione rose her eyes, meeting ones she was far more used to see glancing back at her when she stared at the mirror each day. This time, however, the reflection of herself wasn’t the most direct one on her line of sight but a looming presence leaning against the closed door that rose at her back; the macigked mirror doing nothing to hide the way her crossed arms spoke of a kind of grace she felt unable to mimic for herself.

Licking her lips, well, lips that she felt as hers even if they were fuller, darkened by a shade of lipstick that didn’t clash against a complexion that felt far too fair, far too delicate, the younger witch turned and tilted her head so she could address the other woman directly. Strands of blonde -almost white- hair fell in front of her eyes and she put them away, behind her right ear, fingertips skimming through her skin, nails biting but lacking the telling excitement she would have gotten at any other given situation.

“The charm is experimental.” The answer didn’t quite match the compliment, but Hermione didn’t feel like taking the words at face value, not when she needed a couple of seconds to drink into the grim smile her lips were making.

She knew the theory behind the reality the two of them were in, but she still felt faint when she glanced down, at the clothes she wore, at the emerald hue of the fabric, at the shackles she had managed to mimic. She couldn’t quite form a full thought, however, before her wrists were grabbed by shorter fingers, pushing them up with just the gentlest of movements, thumbs sliding between the metal and her skin. It was something that made her want to remind the woman in front of her that she shouldn’t be doing this, not like that. She wasn’t gentle like Narcissa was, she was much more broad on the way she interacted with everything around her, fueled by a fire that, while similar to the woman she was currently impersonating, burnt through her in a different pace.

She couldn’t quite voice the thought though, distracted as she was by how Narcissa’s mannerisms shone through her own eyes, the twitch of pupils drowning her in.

“I shouldn’t let you do this.”

They had already spoken about this, screamed at each other while at it, magic buzzing out of them in the form of spiraling rivulets that cascaded down their bodies. In Hermione’s case the heat of her wand against her skin had been enough for her to drop it, the sound unnaturally loud against the walls of the room they kept the older witch in. They had stopped then, eyes traveling from each other’s to the wand, the silent understanding that it should be Hermione who picked it up bitter and jagged on itself.

But there was very little they could do, Hermione had said while kneeling, eyes downcast. Or, rather, nothing they could do if they decided to give up. Trials had been something, the decision that had been reached on those as the brunette needed to pretend that she didn’t care, she didn’t mind, she didn’t suffer, had been something else.

She stared at her hand -Narcissa’s really with her delicate fingers and the bone on her wrists protruding with an elegance she knew she would never get to match like the way she had learnt to drink from the moments she had been able to steal from war, as it cupped her own face, the touch of her skin making her, both of them, shiver. “You will let me.”

The voice was cold, but each word was etched with a very particular heat, one that left a metallic aftertaste across the velum, tongue heavy and clunky against her teeth. She wouldn’t back away, the price one she would take head-on even with fear already beginning to coil on her stomach.

“You are innocent. I wasn’t.” Narcissa had been adamant but also raw when she had said those words, lips still touching hers as they moved away from each other, the greeting turning from blissful to bitter. Hermione had wanted to laugh at that, at the idiotic concept of innocence when she knew there was none of it inside her, the currency spent on the many decisions she had needed to take while fleeing and fighting and hating.

“We both know that’s not true.”

Watching as Narcissa closed her eyes before opening them up once again in the span of a few seconds, Hermione smiled, the ticking of a clock that wasn’t truly there echoing on her brain.

“They are coming.”

And, indeed, they were; cold starting to seep through the closed door, the credentials the younger witch had brought for the older trembling as Narcissa moved away with one final tightened caress, papers fleeing to her hand as the door clicked open.

When the dementors entered Hermione swallowed the bile on her throat.

It would be fine, she told herself, it would be for the better.

She would not want it otherwise.


End file.
